


Phantom Fireflies

by Dawnwind



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-06
Updated: 2011-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-17 16:05:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnwind/pseuds/Dawnwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder's sick--and Scully's got to figure out what is in the baggie he just gave her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phantom Fireflies

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for Brand X and Endgame

FBI Headquarters- Thursday, 8:30 a.m.

Surprised to actually find the basement office door locked,  
Dana Scully had to fish to the bottom of her purse for find her  
key. She seldom, if ever, needed it since Mulder nearly always  
arrived before she did. Truth be told, there were days where she  
strongly suspected he had just never left the night before.

The cluttered office was quiet and slightly chilly, since  
neither agent had been there in three days. Scully still felt out  
of sync, on California time. Maybe that was it, Mulder had  
overslept.

Never the less, she had a tiny frission of worry that  
something was wrong. It had been the rare non-stop flight and  
Mulder had actually slept half the distance. So, oversleeping  
probably wasn't the problem.

After stowing her purse in a drawer, Scully fingered her cell  
phone. She'd give Mulder until eight thirty, then start checking  
up on him.

He walked in, or rather dragged in, at eight twenty five.

"Mulder, where..." Scully stopped, surveying her partner  
acutely. "Well, now I know why you're late."

His nose was red, his eyes watery and a cough escaped before  
he could speak. "I think I've got a cold, Scully."

She felt his forehead with the back of her hand, "You've got  
a fever, Mulder."

"I thought so too, so I took your advice and took that  
Tylenol before I left." He sighed. "Didn't do much for the  
headache, though."

"Did you take your temperature before the Tylenol?" She  
frowned. He hadn't even looked sick when they'd parted at the  
airport.

"Well, no."

"I'll go find a thermometer."

"Oh, no, I know where your thermometers have been." He wrinkled  
his nose, sneezing in the process. His throat and chest had become  
even more constricted in the ride over from his apartment.

Scully returned, shaking down an old-fashioned mercury  
thermometer. She stood resolutely in front of her partner, holding  
out the glass wand. "Open your mouth."

"I am not putting anything you may have used on a dead body  
in me."

"It's sterilized, Mulder. Open up."

He complied, waiting until she eyed the silver line. "One  
hundred degrees. You should be home in bed."

"I've got paperwork to do, Scully, reports about that hut in  
Salinas."

"I'll do the paperwork." She said resignedly, she did most of  
it anyway, "But we didn't find anything."

"That dust in that place, Scully..."

"It was an abandoned hut covered in dust and rat droppings,  
I'm sure." She shook her head. "I don't know why you like to go  
ferreting around places like that."

"So you don't have to." He gave her a crooked smile, then  
sneezed and coughed. "Besides, I don't LIKE to."

"You need to go home and go to bed," She reiterated. "Do I  
need to drive you myself?"

"I can drive." He stood shakily. "But, I'm not spending all  
day in that bed. I still don't know why I ever got a water..."

"Then watch bad sci fi lying on the couch." Scully gave him a  
little push out the door. "I'll come by around noon with some  
chicken noodle soup."

"Can you bring won ton instead? From the Imperial City Cafe?"

"Won ton soup it is. Now go, Mulder," she insisted. "Feel  
better." She added in a gentler tone.

"Oh, wait." He fished a small plastic baggie out of his coat  
pocket. "Evidence."

"Of what?" Dana grimaced. He was always handing her disgusting  
things, like monkey piss.

"The dust from the hut." He coughed. "All those children from  
the strawberry fields claimed they'd seen something strange in  
that hut...they said it glowed."

"They didn't go in. They couldn't describe anything  
specific." Scully argued. "It was probably...I don't know-  
fireflies."

"In Central California?" Mulder laughed. "You're reaching,  
Scully."

"So are you." Scully shooed him out the door. "There was no x-  
file in Salinas, Mulder. Go to bed."

Once her partner had finally left, Scully switched on her  
computer, tidying up the desk while she waited. She discovered  
several desiccated french fries, an ancient ham on rye and two  
empty sunflower seed packets under piles of half finished reports.  
"Mulder, Mulder..."She murmured to herself. "No wonder Skinner  
complains about our paperwork. I always finish my half." Opening  
Mulder's junk drawer, which was full of odd bits and pieces that  
only he could identify, Scully dropped the baggie of dust in.

She spent the morning finishing up the four reports on the  
desk and the Salinas file. Hitting the print key, she watched the  
laser jet spit out reams of paper impatiently, wanting to get out  
to the Imperial City Cafe before the lunch crowd hit. She left the  
paper uncollated on the desk and grabbed her purse, after phoning  
in the order for won ton soup and a small fried rice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
12:15 p.m.

"Mulder?" Scully knocked politely before letting herself in to  
his apartment. "Are you awake?" Despite the noon hour, Mulder's  
apartment was shadowy and dark. "I've brought the soup."

When he didn't answer, Scully dropped the bag on the coffee  
table, bending down to get a closer look. Mulder was curled in a  
fetal position, covered by an afghan. He didn't even move when  
Scully put her hand on his forehead. It felt like a stove burner  
set on high.

"My God, how did your fever go up so quickly?" she worried,  
her stomach no longer hungry for Chinese rice. This was more than  
a simple flu. She automatically punched 911 into the phone.

The paramedics were prompt and efficient, starting an IV of  
lactated ringers and getting him loaded into the portable gurney  
with amazing speed. After he'd been bumped down the hall, into the  
elevator, out though the lobby and into the ambulance, Mulder  
regained consciousness.

"Scully?" He gazed around him in tired astonishment. He'd been  
in enough ambulances to instantly recognize one and wasn't at all  
happy about it. "Isn't this a little extreme for the flu?"

"Your fever went to 104," she told him, happy to see his eyes  
open. "Scared the daylights out of me."

"Just so long as it wasn't those Salinas fireflies," he  
teased, then coughed. The coughing went on so long he began to  
wonder if he'd be able to breathe without wrenching pains in his  
chest. Finally, after the paramedic slapped an oxygen mask in  
place, he took short, shuddery breaths, forcing the coughs back  
down into his lungs. It hurt. "Damn," he whispered.

"Don't talk anymore. Mulder," Scully shushed, holding his  
hand.

"Bossy," Mulder retorted, but refrained from saying more, the  
coughing welling up from his chest like a tidal wave. Luckily, the  
ambulance had pulled in front of the ER and the gurney was quickly  
unloaded.

As usual, Scully was designated to filling out admission and  
insurance forms, despite her medical degree. She'd found Emergency  
doctors, in particular young residents, seemed to think a  
pathologist unable to react quickly on her feet. She waited  
outside the treatment room, alternatively thinking up situations  
where she could perform medical feats of marvel to the amazement  
of a wet behind the ears first year intern and worrying about  
Mulder's health. She'd never seen a flu progress so quickly  
before. Even the so called '24 hour" flus didn't behave like that,  
and most of those were miss-named food poisoning. This rapid onset  
of respiratory symptoms and high fever was frightening.

"Ms. Scully?" A smooth faced young man with dark curly hair  
approached. His hospital badge labeled him Dr. Berkeley Greene.  
Berkeley? Scully's concentration thrown for a moment, she  
immediately identified him as a child of hippies. "Ms. Scully?"

"Doctor Scully," she corrected. "How is my partner?"

"Sorry, Doctor." He had the youth to be chagrinned at having  
made that faux pas. "His temp has come down slightly from what the  
paramedics reported at the scene, and he's better hydrated with  
the IV, but his respiratory status seems to be worsening. We've  
got him on a Vapo mist to help open up his airways and a high flow  
oxygen, but his initial blood gas wasn't great and his sats are  
only about 90."

That wasn't good, especially on a lot of oxygen. A normal,  
healthy adult should have a blood oxygen saturation of 99 to 100.  
"Did you draw blood work, yet?"

"Yes, the usual compliment." Berke nodded. "If you'd like to  
see him, we're just waiting for a chest x-ray. They're always  
backed up."

"Thank you." Scully pushed open the exam room door. Mulder lay  
on the gurney, an IV in one arm, heart monitor leads plastered on  
his chest and an oxygen cannula in his nose. Despite the O2, he  
was breathing heavily , with audible gasps.

"Hey, how're you doing?" She took his hand.

"I'm fine," he lied with a glimpse of a smile. "Just a little  
hard to breathe."

"I can see that. Mulder, when did you start feeling bad?"

"When I woke up. It came on fast." He wheezed.

"I'll say." Scully bit her lip in concern, then was pushed  
aside as the nurse came to wheel him up to x-ray. "I'll be here  
waiting when you're done, Mulder."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Returning to her little bank of plastic chairs, Scully found  
she'd acquired a neighbor. A portly, red faced man nodded to her.  
"My wife's in there." He said before going back to perusing the  
Washington Post.

"My friend is sick," Scully responded, not sure whether he was  
paying any attention to her at all. The man discarded the front  
section of the paper, unfolding the sports section. Scully  
absently read a headline upside down, picking out the words virus  
and Salinas. Her heart thudded against her ribs as she leaned down  
to grab the paper. A small article on the lower front page  
proclaimed that five migrant workers in Salinas had come down with  
a rare virus, a form of arena virus.

Scully was running down the hall to the nurse's station  
before she even realized what she'd done. "Is Dr. Greene  
available? It's important."

"Just a moment, I'll page him." A tiny Asian nurse nodded.  
"He'll call soon."

While waiting, Scully scanned the rest of the article. A side  
bar described the symptoms and causes of infection. It was so  
eerily like Mulder's illness, she felt barely able to breathe  
herself. Flu like symptoms which could lead to complete  
respiratory failure; most people were infected by inhaling  
airborne particles of rat or mouse droppings. A similar outbreak  
in the Southwest a few years ago had resulted in several deaths.

Dr. Greene didn't call back, he came out of the elevator with  
Mulder's gurney. The doctor was pumping oxygen into the sick  
agent's lungs with a portable Ambu bag, his dark fingers  
rhythmically squeezing the blue bag with serious intent.

"What happened?" Scully gasped.

"He stopped breathing after the x-ray," Berke informed her,  
never stopping his constant pumping on the oxygen bag. "We need to  
intubate."

Although she understood what the doctor and nurses needed to  
do, Scully felt fear creep down her backbone. Placing Mulder on a  
ventilator would help him breathe until he could get the proper  
treatment and medication. But it was only one thirty in the  
afternoon. Mulder's virus had progressed from regular flu symptoms  
to respiratory arrest in one morning. It was too fast. How could  
the virus be slowed down enough to let medical science work?

"Give me succinylcholine and atropine. I want to intubate  
now," Greene commanded as the room swarmed with activity.

"Doctor Greene, I know you're busy, but I need to talk to you  
when you're done," Scully said urgently, moving back against the  
wall to allow the ER personnel room to work, "I think I know what  
kind of virus he has."

"Great, that's help us concentrate on his cure." Berke slid a  
long curved endotracheal tube down Mulder's throat, then attached  
the oxygen bag to the open end. "We're in," he proclaimed as his  
bagging caused Mulder's chest to rise.

"Sats already up to 95," a nurse called out.

"Get an arterial gas, stat." Berke pulled off his rubber  
gloves, watching his patient. Mulder's color was a pale gray,  
despite the increasing oxygen saturation in his blood, and his  
fever was already back to 104 degrees. He was not looking  
promising at present.

"How was the chest x-ray?" Scully asked.

"Not developed yet." He rubbed his forehead, a headache  
starting. "But going by breath sounds, I'd say pretty much white  
out. He sounds like shit."

"We were in Salinas over the weekend." Dana held out the  
newspaper. "There's been an outbreak of arena virus. I want to  
start him on high doses of ribaviron immediately."

"That sure sounds like the bug," Berke read the first few  
paragraphs. "We'll need to draw more blood. We've already started  
him on Vancomycin, but let's add ribaviron to the mix and see if  
it helps. Can't hurt."

"And then wait for 48 hours," Scully sighed.

"At least. It came on so quickly, his immune system was  
completely overwhelmed," Berke said. "We'll need to give him every  
support until he starts to fight back."

"Mulder's always been a fighter," Scully murmured. She watched  
as the nurse slid a needle into his wrist to draw an arterial  
blood gas. The bright red heart's blood would show if the  
ventilator was helping him oxygenate.

"We'll be moving him up to the ICU," the little Asian nurse  
said as she carried the blood out to be tested.

"Mulder." Scully curved her fingers around his lax ones.  
"Don't let this stupid little virus get you. There's no X-file  
here. You've fought back from worse than this-in Alaska, Arizona.  
Breathe deep."

When the nurse returned with reinforcements, Scully helped  
wheel Mulder to the elevator and up to the ICU. He didn't seem to  
notice the location change in the least, lying unmoving in the  
hospital bed. Out of nervous habit, Scully checked the IV site,  
the ventilator settings and the heart rate monitor. He was  
critically ill, needing the strongest medications, and maximum  
support to breathe. At least Dr. Greene had agreed readily to the  
ribaviron. Once Mulder received a few doses, he should start to  
recover. Would start to recover.

Touching the IV bag for the second time in half an hour,  
Scully realized she couldn't stay in the room. Her thoughts were  
racing between alternate treatments to save Mulder's life and  
being unable to stop his inevitable slide towards death. She had  
to do something to help.

"Dr. Scully?" Berke stepped into the room just as Dana rose to  
leave. "This is Dr. Nicholas Fielding. He's in Infectious Disease-  
and probably knows more about these kind of viruses than anyone on  
the East Coast."

"Dr. Fielding." Scully had to look up. The man had to be over  
six foot four. She shook his offered hand. "What can you tell me?"

"That I.D. is very interested in your friend. We haven't had  
a case of Hanta virus or any of its cousins in Virginia, ever." He  
opened the folder he carried. "Plus, your friend-Mulder-has some  
fairly interesting blood work."

"This isn't the first rare virus he's encountered," she  
explained about the illness he'd had in Alaska. His blood had been  
so thick and sludge like it literally stopped him heart at normal  
body temperatures. She'd had to keep him hypothermic until the  
ribavirons had begun to work.

"So, he has some unusual antibodies in his blood," Fielding  
remarked, intrigued by her information. "Who knows, that could be  
to his advantage."

"I have some dust from the hut he was in."

"I knew I was in love when I met you." Fielding grinned  
suddenly, a dimple appearing in his cheek. "So few women carry  
dust around with them."

And I didn't." Scully felt vaguely cheered by his quips. It  
reminded her of Mulder. "It's in the basement."

"That's where I'd keep my dust," he agreed. "Listen to me, do  
not open the bag or examine it in any way. I need to call  
California about any info the doctors out there can tell us, but  
this thing hit your partner pretty darn fast."

"I'll tell the lab to be waiting for you," Berke spoke up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

FBI Headquarters, 4:45 p.m.

Opening the drawer to Mulder's desk, Scully extracted the  
sandwich bag full of dust, examining it more critically than when  
Mulder had first handed it to her. It appeared to be nothing but  
dirt. There was a vague glitter to it, but she suspected that was  
just bits of mica. She wanted very much to know if this had made  
Mulder sick. However, in six years some of his raging paranoia had  
rubbed off and she wasn't willing to give every particle to Nick  
Fielding, even if he could crack a joke. She tucked it into her  
jacket pocket, planning to head over to her second home, the  
pathology lab.

"Agent Scully?" Assistant Director Skinner stood in the open  
doorway to the office. Scully was surprised to see that he looked  
uncertain. "How's Agent Mulder?"

"He's ill." She sighed, "Very bad."

Skinner regained his composure, frowning. "Why did he fly out  
to California?"

Scully hated to have to explain her partner's actions when  
she didn't totally agree with them. If they'd found something  
strange or mysterious, she'd at least feel there had been good  
reason to be in Salinas, but it had been nothing but sickness. A  
rare, but completely known human disease. "He thought there was  
evidence of...there had been sightings of weird glowing  
lights." Dana closed her fingers around the bag in her pocket. "But  
we didn't see anything."

"But it made him sick?"

"Rat droppings made him sick," Scully said tightly, "Like it's  
made many other people-who've died. But Mulder is not going to  
die."

"Can you cure him?"

"I plan to," she hissed, her heels snapping loudly in the hall  
as she walked towards the lab.

Adorning herself in latex gloves and a blue paper surgical  
mask, Scully carefully transferred a small amount of the dust into  
a test tube. She labeled it Salinas and tucked it into her  
personal locker. It felt melodramatic, but she thought Mulder  
would have approved. There had been too many times when evidence  
and even the person handling the evidence had disappeared.

Breathing shallowly in the confines of the surgical mask,  
Scully withdrew another tiny portion of dust with a pipette and  
placed it on a glass slide. She sandwiched the specimen with a  
slide cover and placed it on a microscope. adjusting the eye  
pieces, Dana peered down at the cause of Mulder's illness. She  
easily identified the difference between common dirt and rat  
droppings. There were tiny particles of a shiny mineral, but  
Scully's knowledge of mineralogy wasn't strong enough to be sure  
they were just mica. However, she didn't see anything that looked  
obviously out of place or evidently alien to the naked microscope  
eye, but then, she wasn't using a very powerful lens. She set  
aside another small sample, just to have enough for an independent  
analysis, perhaps with a gas chromatograph to ascertain the  
mineral compound. Her hand trembled, just once, while she was  
preparing the sample. It unnerved her to think that she was  
nervous enough about Mulder's condition that she wasn't able to  
think like a scientist. Worries about Mulder kept slipping through  
her defenses, and she knew that she'd never be able to conduct a  
proper examination under these circumstances. With a sigh, she  
secreted the slides in her locker with the test tube and cleaned  
up. The hospital lab would be able to discover much more from the  
specimen than she had, and she was anxious to hear about Mulder's  
condition.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The lab techs at Georgetown University Hospital reacted so  
excitedly to Scully's little baggie of dirt, she felt like Santa  
Claus leaving gifts. Rare viruses probably were more interesting  
than a constant diet of CBCs and electrolyte levels.

The ICU nurse reported that Mulder's temperature had  
decreased, his oxygen saturation had increased and he'd had brief  
periods of drugged wakefulness. Scully hoped she could catch him  
in one of those awake times. Naturally, he was asleep when she  
arrived, and she settled into the bedside chair. She'd sat in so  
many hospitals, in so many chairs next to Mulder's bed, it was  
beginning to feel familiar, which she didn't like.

Mulder was one of the most accident prone people Dana had  
ever met in her life, and she was a doctor! If bad things happened  
to good people, Mulder thrived on sickness, torture and hardship.  
She doubted he enjoyed the dubious distinction or even recognized  
it for the prize it was, but he was a survivor. He'd recovered  
from weird viruses, tobacco beetles invading his lungs and  
probably unsanitary brain surgery. Arena virus should be a walk in  
the park for him.

Tucking her cold fingers into Mulder's still feverishly hot  
ones, Scully felt him tighten his grip on her hand. "Mulder? Are  
you awake?"

The ventilator tubing prevented him from talking, but his  
gray green eyes were open, looking up at her. His hand went up to  
the tubing, as if to pull it out, but Scully stopped him.

"Just be patient, Patient," Scully quipped, "Right now you  
need the ventilator to help you breathe. You may not have found  
aliens in Salinas, but I knew there were rats in that hut. You  
caught a virus...kind of like the Hanta virus."

Mulder's eyes burned into her, he looked ready to jump out of  
the bed.

"I know, Cancerman's used Hanta virus as a cover for his  
operations, but it is a REAL illness, Mulder, and you have it." She  
gently pushed his head back onto the pillow, "And I haven't called  
FEMA yet."

He rolled his eyes at her for the retort and made writing  
motions with his hand. Digging into her purse, Scully retrieved a  
pad and pen. "Be nice," she admonished.

He wrote, _'Fuck nice, How long vent?'_

"Until you don't need it, Mulder," she answered quietly. "You  
nearly died. You need to rest, let the medicine work and get  
better."

He wrote _'C.G.B."_ on the pad.

"I'm keeping my eyes open." She laid a hand on his hot  
forehead. "And I haven't smelled any cigarette smoke all day. Go  
to sleep, Mulder."

The word _'Trust"_ skittered across the pad, his hand tiring.

"Trust me." She took the Bic from his hand as the morphine  
took him back under.

Late afternoon turned into late evening, the rhythm of the  
ICU flowing around Scully's chair. She helped the nurses with  
Mulder's care and tried to stay out of the way when the doctors  
had to code an older women in the bed across from her. The sadness  
in the room was palpable. Scully remembered again why she had  
chosen to work in pathology.

"Dr. Scully?"

"Dr. Fielding?" she responded, peering up at his tall,  
slender form. He was smiling broadly, dimples deepening in both  
cheeks.

"I haven't had such a good time in the lab since med school."

"You don't get out much, Dr. Fielding."

"Especially when I get a patient with a really weird virus."

"What did you find?" Her heart thumped nervously.

"I'm not quite sure- not what we were expecting." His attitude  
sobered. "Would you like to have a look?"

Not telling him she'd already examined the dust, Scully  
followed the tall doctor downstairs to the lab.

His hand on the doorknob, Fielding turned back to her, "We  
had finished our preliminary work and were cleaning up--this lab is  
only used for special jobs. Mark turned off the light..."He swung  
open the door and pointed. The area around the microscope glowed  
with an eerie bluish light.

"Wow," Scully murmured. It was a less than adequate word for  
the situation, but she wasn't sure exactly what adjective was  
appropriate.

"Pretty much my first impression, too." Nick waved his hand  
near the microscope. His skin reflected the blue color. "No heat,  
just a ..."

"Glow." Scully nodded. "Mulder said that some children  
reported seeing a glow from the hut. But, we saw it during the  
day. Neither of us thought to come back at night." She approached  
the microscope warily. "Mind if I take a look?"

"Be my guest." He shrugged, "There are some fairly strange  
particles in there-not exactly plain ol "California soil."

"Really?" Scully pursed her lips, peering down at the sample.  
The glow nearly hurt her eyes when looking through the eye piece,  
but other than that, it truly did not look any different than the  
slide she had back at the Hoover building. "How can you tell?"

"Honestly, I couldn't." He grinned at her. "Dirt is out of my  
expertise, but Mark was a big help. We have isolated the virus out  
of the rat droppings, but he wants to do a PCR and gel electro-  
phoresis test, which can take 2 or 3 days."

"To test for other things."

"Yep."

"What exactly do you expect to find?" Scully looked up into  
his very blue eyes, her stomach knotting. She knew what Mulder  
would say.

"Got me." Fielding slid the slide out and placed it in a small  
case with a dozen other similarly labeled slides. "Maybe Martian  
dust."

"It's not red," Scully scoffed.

"No, we have established one thing, it's definitely blue." He  
held up his hands. "Very interesting, I really can't hazard a  
guess. I did talk to some experts at UCLA Med Center." He gave her  
a rundown on the medical advice he'd received and what he'd done  
to fine tune Mulder's care.

"Thank you for your dedication," Dana said sincerely.

"Weren't nuthin', Ma'am." He pretended to pull his forelock,  
"Would you like a late night cup of coffee?"

"At 11:30 at night, no." Scully opened the door for him, "But  
if your cafeteria has hot chocolate, I'll go Dutch."

"And I had you pegged for an Irish girl."

Scully gave him a raised eyebrow before following him down  
the hall. It took her a minute to realize he was humming 'My Wild  
Irish Rose'.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Georgetown University Hospital, Sunday 3:30 p.m.

Hurrying down the corridor, Scully felt hope buoying up  
inside her. The plan had been if Mulder's blood gases continued  
to improve as well as they had been, the doctor would extubate  
him. He'd been on the ventilator for nearly three days and was  
definitely getting antsy. All morning Scully had sat next to his  
bed keeping him distracted from ripping out the ventilator tube  
himself.

"We have a winner." Nick Fielding waved a blood gas slip as  
Scully arrived at Mulder's room. "O2 and CO2 levels are excellent.  
He's not completely cured yet, but I think he can breathe on his  
own."

"I don't think he'll give you any argument." Scully smiled.  
Mulder's eyes sought her out when she entered the room, followed  
by Dr. Fielding and a respiratory therapist. Scully took Mulder's  
hand, giving him an encouraging squeeze.

"Ok, Mulder," the tall Doctor began, "You probably don't  
remember being intubated, a lot of patients don't, but I've been  
told extubation can be a little scary. First Sherry is going to  
suction down the tube to get rid of all the secretions, then I  
want you to take a really deep breath and cough as hard as you  
can, while I pull it out."

Nodding his assent, Mulder watched as Sherry disconnected the  
tube in his mouth from the ventilator and inserted a long suction  
catheter down the tube to insure that there were no secretions to  
clog his trachea when the endotracheal tube was pulled. For a few  
seconds, it was as if Mulder had no oxygen and couldn't take a  
breath to get any. He clenched Scully's hand hard enough to bruise  
her fingers, panic welling up as his heart rate doubled. As Sherry  
withdrew the catheter, Mulder sucked in a lungful of air, coughing  
painfully.

Nick pulled the tube out in one movement. It had taken less  
than a minute, but Mulder felt as if he'd run a marathon.  
Breathing was painful, his throat wheezing as he strained to slow  
the coughing.

"Mulder, relax." Dana gently pushed him back against the  
pillow as Sherry placed a nasal cannula on him and administered an  
Albuteral inhalation treatment. The prolonged coughing was scaring  
Scully, since that was exactly what had brought him into the  
hospital in the first place. Despite Dr. Fielding's optimism,  
Mulder didn't look any better.

The albuteral finally quieted his spasms, although doing  
nothing for his still racing heart beat.

"A little rougher than I expected," Nick observed, placing a  
stethoscope on Mulder's chest to listen for breath sounds. "Sounds  
a lot better, the virus filled your lungs up with fluid-like  
having pneumonia. That's improved vastly."

"Oh, yeah, I can tell," Mulder rasped, his throat like  
sandpaper. "Thanks." He stifled a cough, taking a sip of water from  
the cup Scully held out. "Why does my heart want to jump out of my  
chest?" The sentence exhausted him.

"It's the albuteral, an unfortunate side effect of the  
drug." Nick gently put his fingers against Mulder's wrist, feeling  
his rapid pulse. "As you start feeling better, you'll need it  
less."

"Did you get the results back on the PCR test yet?" Scully  
asked, knowing Mulder would pester her for information once the  
doctor left.

"I'm just going down to the lab now," he answered. "You'll be  
the first ones I tell."

"Thanks." Scully smiled, then turned her attention to her  
partner who was already fiddling with his nasal cannula.

"When can I get out of here, Scully?" he asked peevishly, his  
chest still heaving with the effort to breathe.

"When you can breathe without wheezing like a ninety year old  
smoker." She groaned, "Mulder, you were just extubated--several days  
faster than expected. You survived a virus that killed five people  
in Salinas. Be grateful."

"What tests?" His voice was barely above a whisper, it hurt to  
talk.

"I wondered when you'd ask." She laughed, flicking the covers  
up over him. "On the dust you found--with lots of arena virus  
present. You heard Nick. Now take a nap until the results are  
back."

"Nick?" he repeated, feeling a smidgen of jealousy. She was on  
a first name basis with his doctor? He couldn't fight the fatigue,  
though, and was asleep within minutes.

Scully smiled, watching him sleep. Barely recovered from his  
near fatal illness and he already wanted to be up, on the trail of  
his latest X-file. Not that she didn't find the blue glowing dust  
just a trifle weird, but it was just dust, wasn't it? A nurse came  
in to tell her the results were still inconclusive and Dr.  
Fielding would call her when he knew more.

7:30 p.m.

After leaving the hospital, Scully got take-out from her  
local Thai restaurant, to eat in front of the TV before bed. It  
was the first evening since Mulder's collapse she'd felt relaxed  
enough to do so. However, the message on her answering machine  
made her drop the bag and quickly dial the correct number .

"Yes," a voice growled.

"Turn off the tape, Frohike," Dana commanded, knowing the Lone  
Gunmen recorded all their conversations. The little gnomish man  
had such a crush on her, she wouldn't put it past him to record  
her voice and then splice it together into a much sexier  
conversation.

"Ah, the lovely Agent Scully." He sighed, as if he hadn't been  
expecting her call.

"You had information?" she asked briskly.

Scully could hear a shuffling and clunking as the phone  
obviously changed hands. The next voice she hear was that of  
Byers, the handsome, dapper member of the team.

"How is Mulder doing, Scully?" Byers asked politely.

"Much better, thank you," she replied primly, feeling somewhat  
confused. "He was breathing on his own, but he's still under the  
weather. You called me about something?"

"We? Uh..." Byers glanced over at his fellow Lone Gunmen, not  
sure how to explain what he knew without revealing where he'd  
gotten it.

Langly grabbed the phone away from his friend. "Mulder may  
have an alien disease," he blurted out.

"No." Scully's voice was firm. "He has a form of Arena virus,  
like Hanta..."

"It presents like that, but the virus showed alien RNA," he  
continued breathlessly.

"That's impossible, Dr. Fielding would have told me..."she  
broke off abruptly. "Where did you get this?"

"That's classified," Langly replied, trying to sound  
mysterious.

"Ringo Langly, that's Mulder's medical files you're rummaging  
around in!" she roared. "You hacked into the hospital's mainframe  
and then read private medical information. That's illegal."

"Duh. The thing is, you obviously didn't know about it."

"True." She pursed her lips, "I need to read this myself. Can  
you e-mail it to me?"

Now Frohike was back on the line, "Gotten over you  
reservations about hacking, Agent Scully?" he asked warmly. "Langly  
is all over it, should be coming over to you in a few minutes."

"Look, guys." She took a deep breath, steadying herself, "For  
Mulder's sake, if this is true, thank you."

"Anything for you, Agent Scully." Frohike grinned lecherously,  
glad she couldn't actually see him. He hung up reluctantly.

Nibbling idly on a spring roll, Scully dialed up her Internet  
server, waiting for the sign that her mail had arrived. If what  
the Lone Gunmen had read was correct, then Dr. Fielding had  
basically lied to her. He had to have known about the dust's  
unusual properties and not revealed them.

A little mail truck popped up on the computer screen, pulling  
Dana out of her reverie. She tapped the appropriate icons and  
swallowed the rest of her snack. While the mail was printing out,  
she ran to the kitchen for a cup of green tea and a bowl for her  
chicken coconut soup. There was quite a bit of paper when the  
printer finished and Scully realized Langly had included all of  
Mulder's medical files along with the laboratory data.

Glad she'd read Mulder's chart everyday at the hospital,  
Scully was able to quickly sort all of those papers to one side  
and concentrate on the lab's chemical breakdowns.

As she read the words, her breath came in shorter and shorter  
gasps, as if she too had contracted Hanta virus. She read the odd  
components signifying the alien RNA. She'd seen alien DNA in  
Purity control, the green alien blood of the clones and even in  
her own medical records. All living things had DNA in every cell.  
Usual Earth DNA is designated by the letters G,A,T and C. Alien  
DNA had a fifth and sixth previously unseen pair designation.  
Some Earthly viruses just had RNA, DNA's chemical cousin, such as  
the virus in the dust from Salinas. She had never seen alien RNA.

Her fear for Mulder's life escalated, her hands shaking so  
much the chicken coconut soup was slopping onto her skirt. Scully  
took a deep breath, trying to decide what needed to be done. She  
gulped the soup, eyes still riveted on the chemical analysis. She  
needed to go to Mulder, ensure his safety. Folding up the most  
inflammatory pages, she stuffed them into her coat pockets and ran  
out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Georgetown University Hospital, 9:15 p.m.

The hospital was quieter after nine p.m., with fewer visitors  
and doctors. Nurses prepared their patients for sleep, taking  
quick sets of vital signs, administering medications and extra  
blankets.

Having slept most of the afternoon, Mulder was wide awake. He  
held the TV remote loosely in his right hand, thumb on the channel  
changer. TV images flashed by, but he wasn't really paying much  
attention to them. Finally he settled on an Australian Rules  
football game, but the pain in his chest kept distracting him. He  
hated having respiratory diseases and especially being intubated.  
After suffering the tobacco beetles in his lungs and having them  
killed by massive doses of nicotine, he'd had asthma like symptoms  
for months. It wasn't a whole year later and here he was again  
straining for breath, his throat and chest raw from coughing.

Scully forced herself to walk calmly out of the elevator and  
down the hall of the fifth floor. The quiet atmosphere of the  
hospital reassured her. No one was reacting to any frightening  
events or threatening people. And as she had joked to Mulder a few  
days before, she didn't smell any cigarette smoke. She was able to  
walk into room 535 without overly startling Mulder.

"What are you doing here so late?" he asked, wheezing, "Not  
that I'm complaining."

"Has Dr. Fielding come by with your test results?" she asked  
tersely.

"No." He shrugged, "It's late."

"He assured me he'd call." She frowned. "Anyway, the Lone  
Gunmen e-mailed me this." She handed over the papers, pointing to  
the pertinent information. "This is even different from the  
branched DNA we've seen before. I'm really concerned about where  
Dr. Fielding could be."

"I did find aliens." Mulder grinned, his voice raspy.

"Another alien disease. I'm going to look for him."

"I'll go to the lab with you." He started to remove there  
oxygen cannula from his nose.

"No, stay here. You're still sick." She pushed him back into  
bed, but handed him her extra gun. "I'll be back soon."

"Scully." Mulder looked over at her, his face grave. "Be  
careful." He tucked the gun under the covers.

"You, too." She smiled reassuringly at him. He was far  
improved, but still weak and needing oxygen. If her hunch was  
correct and something terrible had happened to Nick Fielding, she  
wanted Mulder out of the hospital. She walked purposely down the  
stairs to the second floor lab, bypassing the regular rooms where  
technicians prepared lab slides to check for blood counts and  
urine analyses. Around a corner and down a rarely used corridor  
was the extra lab Fielding had commandeered. Scully paused,  
instinctively drawing her weapon. Everything felt wrong, despite  
the fact that nothing in the hall looked out of place.

"Nick?" she called out cautiously, her hand on the doorknob.  
There was no answer, so she stepped into the room. Smashed glass  
littered every inch of the floor. Tiny particles of glowing blue  
shone amongst the debris like fairy lights. Scully advanced slowly  
around the main work station until she saw Fielding's prostrate  
body.

Crouching carefully to avoid kneeling in glass, Scully placed  
a gentle finger to his carotid. There was no pulse and the body  
felt cold. He'd been dead too long to revive. The skin around his  
eyes was inflamed and charred looking, invoking a fear deep in  
Dana's chest. She had seen these symptoms too often to be  
mistaken, Fielding had been exposed to toxic green alien blood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
"You need to get out of here, now." Scully spoke rapidly,  
pushing a wheelchair and portable oxygen tank into Mulder's room.

"Fielding is dead?" he croaked, already yanking the IV tubing  
out of his arm. A tiny drop of blood welled up, but he pressed a  
wad of Kleenex against the wound.

"As a doornail," she said grimly, disconnecting his cannula  
tubing from the wall and fitting it into the nozzle on the oxygen  
tank. "Your morphing friend paid him a visit."

"He is no friend of mine." Mulder frowned at the  
transportation she offered. "I don't need that."

"You do. And it'll look less conspicuous." She gave him a  
little shove to get into the wheelchair. "I'll call Skinner once  
we get to my place."

"Scully..."

"Get in," she hissed, "I'd rather not stick around any longer  
than necessary."

"I never thought Dr. Scully would let me out AMA." Mulder held  
on tightly, Scully wasn't kidding. She zipped down the corridor at  
speeds not really meant for a wheel chair, almost knocking down a  
scrubs clad nurse waiting for the elevator.

Despite Mulder's objections that he didn't need a wheelchair,  
even the short walk from the back of the hospital to Scully's car  
left him winded, his chest tight. He didn't mention anything to  
the woman driving the car, she looked too tense and preoccupied  
for that unsurprising revelation.

"I think maybe we shouldn't go to my place," Scully said,  
taking a left onto the beltway onramp, "It's too obvious."

"Scully, why do you think the 'Bounty Hunter'..." Mulder used  
the only name they had for the shapeshifting alien, "Killed Dr.  
Fielding and not me?"

"I don't know and it's irrelevant-you survived and that's all  
that matters." Scully took her eyes off the late night beltway  
traffic to spare a look at Mulder. His color wasn't good, even in  
the half light provided by the street lights flicking by at sixty  
miles per hour. "You should be in bed."

"I was looking forward to yours." He grinned lecherously, then  
sobered at her expression. "I'll be fine." Mulder curved his long  
fingers over hers resting on the gear shift. "But this worries  
me...did he take all of Fielding's samples...the blood? Test tubes?"

"No." Scully mentally acknowledged a green sign on her left  
signally an upcoming offramp. "Everything was smashed. There was  
glowing particles all over the floor." She glanced quickly at her  
feet, "Look at my shoes."

There was a glimmer of pale blue phospheresance along the  
soles of her black leather four inch heeled pumps. "Glowing  
particles?" Mulder asked in an excited tone.

"Didn't I tell you?" Scully maneuvered the sedan past a long  
double trailer truck, pulling the car into the next lane.

"I think I'd remember that," he said dryly, trying to stifle  
the coughs crowding his throat.

Explaining about the odd glowing properties of the dust found  
in Salinas, Scully brought her partner up to date on the progress  
of the investigation he'd missed while being on the ventilator.  
"Now that it's been confirmed that it's alien RNA..."

"Now I really wonder why I didn't get the ice pick in the  
neck."

"Fielding was burned around the eyes." Dana took the next  
exit, scanning the road behind her. There had been no evidence of  
a tail, but her sense were still on full alert. "Maybe he hurt  
the Bounty Hunter in some way-that green blood is so toxic to  
humans."

"And if he was hurt, he left before coming up to my room for  
a visit?" Mulder quipped. He registered the road they were now  
driving on, recognizing the rundown area of Takoma Park, Maryland.  
"Where are we going?"

"If you haven't guessed by now, you're in worse shape that I  
thought." She directed the car down an alley, parking in front of  
an old warehouse.

"I usually get my papers delivered." He surveyed the Lone  
Gunman Newspaper offices with resignation. Mulder handed Scully  
the oxygen tank before levering himself out of the car. An  
onslaught of coughing hit suddenly, incapacitating him completely.  
He leaned against the still open door, coughing fitfully, his  
throat burning.

"It's not the best place for you in the shape you're in, but  
the Lone Gunmen have a security system." Scully scooped her arm  
under his, bumping the door shut with her hip. "And I hear  
Frohike's a good cook."

"You believe Langly?" Mulder laughed raggedly, his breath  
hitching in his aching lungs.

"Get inside before you catch your death." Scully propelled him  
up the stairs.

"Didn't I already do that?" he joked, knocking on an unmarked  
door.

The front door was triple locked. Even after the FBI agents  
had identified themselves, it took Byers thirty seconds of dead  
bolt turning to open the door.

"Hey, Mulder," Langly greeted, pulling in the oxygen tank  
before relocking the three dead bolts. "We didn't think you'd be  
gettin" out of the hospital so soon."

"Yah, we were planning to bring you a...video... of the Oriole's  
game you missed," Frohike stuttered, looking between the two  
agents. "This isn't a planned discharge, is it?

"No." Scully explained what had happened to Dr. Fielding. "I  
have some more evidence at the FBI, but I need to have it analyzed  
by someone we trust."

"I know a name," Byers put in.

"Scully!" Mulder grinned beatifically at her, "You kept some  
of my dust?"

"I've been your partner too long, you're wearing off on  
me." She smirked at him, still not liking his color.

"That's not the only thing wearing off." Mulder pointed down  
at her size six pumps.

"Nice shoes," Frohike commented.

It was dark enough in the room crowded with every known  
electronic gadget and computer known to modern man to see that the  
blue phospheresance around her heels had almost disappeared.

"Hmmm...."Dana slipped off her shoes, handing them to a very  
willing Frohike. "Take a scraping off those, there may be some  
residual left. I have another pair in my trunk."

"I love a woman who comes prepared." Mulder put a hand to his  
heart, but spoiled it by coughing.

"Lie down, Mulder," Scully admonished sternly, "Get some  
rest."

"We'll keep our eyes on him." Byers promised, "Langly's  
already hacking back on the hospital's mainframe to see if  
Fielding left any last notes."

"Before he died." Frohike stroked Scully's shoes absently.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

10:30 p.m.

FBI headquarters was much quieter after hours-whole rooms of  
desks were empty, with only the occasional circle of light  
identifying a late working agent.

Scully took the elevator to the forensics lab, tapping her  
now gray suede clad foot nervously. She hoped it would be  
relatively, it not completely impossible, for the Bounty Hunter to  
get into the building, but she'd seen him do mysterious and quite  
impossible things before. He could look like anyone-even an FBI  
agent, and that scared her.

Sliding her key into the lock, Scully paused to let her  
heartbeat slow down to an acceptable rate before pushing the door  
open. The lab was dark, quiet and undisturbed. She used her  
maglite to illuminate the row of lockers, opening her own with  
swift turns of the combination dial. The vial and slide were still  
there, nestled next to her safety goggles and lab coat. Switching  
off the flashlight she checked for the characteristic glow of the  
dust. The test tube had a faint luminescence, but it was obviously  
fading. Possibly that was why the Bounty hunter had left so much  
evidence all over the hospital lab floor-it was degrading and  
might soon be worthless.

"Just like fireflies." Scully cupped her hands around the test  
tube, admiring the pale blue reflected against her palms. "It dies  
when you put it in a jar."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

11:30 p.m.

Since the forensics lab had been undamaged, Scully felt safer  
about going to her own home, Upon arrival, she removed the gray  
pumps, never her favorite, which is why they spent most of their  
life in the trunk of her car, and pushed the message button on her  
answering machine. Five messages blared forth, three from Skinner  
demanding to know where Mulder was, giving her worse and worse  
ultimatums if she didn't reply. She was more than a little relived  
that the other two were from her Mother wanting to know if she was  
still coming for dinner next Friday and the dry cleaners telling  
her that her clothes were ready to be picked up. The first phone  
call she made was to the Lone Gunmen, who told her Mulder had  
fallen asleep and they'd arranged for a meeting with a Dr. William  
DeFries in the morning. He was reputed to be a top biologist, who  
could analyze the remaining dust. Scully just hoped it would be  
worth looking at, twelve hours from now. With a bracing glass of  
white wine, Dana finally dialed her boss's familiar phone number,  
expecting a thorough reaming out.

"Where did you hide him?" Skinner asked quietly, after she'd  
identified herself. "The hospital is in an up roar."

"Did they find Dr. Fielding's body?" Scully put in, anxious to  
know what had been discovered.

"Dead," Skinner replied, "But I suspect you knew that."

"Yes-I couldn't leave Mulder in there any longer. Did you see  
the body?"

"I saw the damage around his eyes. This was right up Mulder's  
alley all along," Skinner conceded. "But where is he?"

"I'd prefer not to say at this time, Sir," Scully answered  
carefully, "Just be assured he's safe, and I will personally see  
to his health matters."

"I wouldn't expect anything less." Skinner rubbed the bridge  
of his nose where his wire rimmed glasses pinched. "You are still  
perusing some line of inquiry?"

"I have a meeting tomorrow morning, after that I believe I  
will have run out of options."

"But Mulder is recovering?"

"He's much better, there are other matters at hand."

"I thought this was just Mulder getting another one of his  
mysterious illnesses."

"There may be more to it than that." Scully opened her purse  
to look in at the test tube. The light it gave off was weakening  
with every passing hour. "I have a specimen in my possession, but  
it may not be enough."

"Enough for what...Just make the report sound logical." Skinner  
gave half a chuckle. "Tell Mulder he's on full medical leave until  
his doctor says he can come back."

"I'm his doctor." Scully allowed herself half a smile.

"Exactly," Skinner replied, "I'll get back to you with the  
results found in the hospital lab."

"Thank you, sir." Scully hung up, taking a sip of her  
Chardonnay. Skinner had been much easier on her than he'd implied  
on his messages, in fact he'd been kind. She was too tired to try  
to delve to deeply into that, there was still much work to do. If  
the unusual properties of the dust were degrading, then it was  
easy to postulate that the virus in Mulder's system was unstable  
as well. It may be the whole reason he'd recovered. With the  
ribaviron and medical care he'd gotten, he had simply been able to  
last out the acute stage of the disease, which had killed it's  
other victims, to get to the stage where the virus weakened enough  
for the body to fight it off. Now, he just had to gain strength  
and get rid of the nagging cough, just like any other flu  
sufferer. This gave her a modicum of comfort as she quickly  
showered, changed into other clothes and fixed a quick snack.

It was close to midnight, but with her medical connections,  
Scully knew of an all night pharmacy, which was able to fill all  
the medications that Mulder had been on. Langly's print up of the  
medical records proved invaluable for this. Gathering up her  
medical bag, she headed out to the pharmacy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lone Gunman offices, Monday morning-1:45 a.m.

"First you wake me out of a sound sleep, and now you're  
sticking needles into me," Mulder grumbled, wincing as the needle  
bit into his vein, dark venous blood flowing into the attached  
test tube. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Not at this moment, no." Scully slipped the first test tube  
off and reinserted a second to get another sample of blood. She  
gently shook the first to mix in the heparin that prevented the  
blood from clotting. "But, there have been plenty of times when  
I'd be more than happy to poke you."

"That's my line!" Mulder groused with a leer.

"Looks like you're not the only one," Frohike commented,  
watching with interest, "You look like a pin cushion, Mulder."

After Scully had pulled out the needle and applied a qauze  
pad to stop the oozing blood, Mulder rubbed his black and blue  
arm. "Where do you think the expression 'stick it to you" come  
from? Nurses."

"Do you want me to kiss it and make it better, Mulder?" Scully  
asked dryly. "Now, you need an injection of your antibiotic. Drop  
your pants."

"She never asks me this when I'm in the mood." Mulder scowled,  
sending Langly and Byers into gales of laughter. He sucked in air  
through clenched teeth when Scully jabbed the hypodermic needle  
home, causing a bout of coughing.

"The good news is, you're probably free of the fatal phase of  
the virus, Mulder." Scully deposited the needle into her mini  
sharps container, stripping off latex gloves, before writing  
identifying information on the two test tubes of blood.  
"Unfortunately, if what I hypothesize is correct, that may also  
mean we have no proof of the alien RNA. It may just disintegrate  
into worthless cells that we can't identify as any different than  
any other cellular debris."

"Makes me feel so much better." He wheezed after the coughing  
had let up.

"I'll whip up a batch of ol "Grandma Frohike's famous chicken  
soup," Frohike promised. "Puts hair on your chest."

"And other places?" Langly affectionately rubbed the littler  
man's balding head. "Maybe you should make it more often?"

"If I did, you'd look like Rapunzal." He batted at the long  
blond hair brushing Langly's shoulders.

"We should probably all get some sleep." Byers, always the  
sensible one, urged. Mulder had been the only one asleep while  
Scully had been gone, and all were grainy eyed with weariness.  
Langly had printed out all relevant information from the hospital  
records, while Byers had contacted his biologist friend. Frohike's  
contribution had been to search the Internet for any other  
articles on the various mutations of Hanta virus. "If you're  
interested, Scully, I did manage to change the sheets on Frohike's  
bed-he'd be more than happy to have a sleeping bag on the floor-  
and Mulder is already in my bed."

"Oh, but where will you sleep?" Scully was completely sure  
she didn't want to sleep in Melvin's bed. "I'll just go home  
tonight and see you back here at eight thirty, with bagels and  
coffee."

"Drat," Frohike muttered, the fodder for his wet dreams going  
down in flames.

"What?" Scully had turned to pack her medical bag, half  
hearing his comment.

"Donuts," Frohike said louder, getting a nasty grin from  
Mulder, who had heard the exchange correctly.

"The gooier the better," Mulder put in, "Maybe with cream  
filling?" This again sent Langly and Byers into paroxysms of  
laughter, as Scully rolled her eyes. Frohike stomped off, hands  
gesturing to some invisible companion about the lack of his  
friends" compassion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Monday, 8:30 a.m.

Armed with an assortment of bakery goodies, Scully arrived  
back at the Lone Gunmen's offices at the appointed hour. Mulder  
was very appreciative that she'd even managed to stop by his  
apartment and brought him a change of clothing. He hadn't relished  
wearing any cast off head banger tee shirts of Langly's. He did  
not, however, look happy when Scully whipped out the full  
compliment of drugs he had to receive before leaving.

"Scully, I think I can do without this tank," Mulder wheedled,  
after his aerosol treatment, Albuteral puffs, antibiotic shot,  
ribaviron and multivitamin complete with iron had all been given.

Still in serious doctor mode, Scully examined her patient  
critically, Fully dressed, Mulder looked remarkably better than he  
had the night before. The black turtleneck emphasized his pallor a  
little more than necessary, but the long sleeves hid his bruised  
arms. Other than that, he was standing erect, appeared in little  
discomfort and was wolfing down a bagel with cream cheese like a  
man who hadn't eaten in a week. Which, she had to admit, he  
probably hadn't. He was, on the other hand, still wheezing like a  
calliope, but going to meet a biologist wouldn't be overly  
strenuous and she could bring the oxygen tank in the trunk, just  
in case,

"All right, Mulder, but if you keel over in the hall, don't  
fall on me."

"That's telling him, Scully!" Langly laughed, a half-eaten  
donut in hand. "The van is all ready, with so many of us, it'd be  
easier if we all went together."

"Then, I suggest we go," Scully agreed, "The glow has all but  
faded from all the samples."

"Does my blood glow?" Mulder asked with interest.

"That I'd like to see." Frohike took the monumental task of  
locking the door after them as the rest trouped over to the van  
and settled in.

"No, but I'm not sure why." Scully got into the passenger seat  
beside Langly, holding her precious cargo of test tubes tightly in  
her purse.

"Dr. DeFries isn't far." Byers handed over the address, and  
they hadn't driven more than fifteen minutes before they arrived  
at a small, ramshackle looking building, which appeared to be in  
dire need of being condemned.

"Let me guess," Scully observed dryly, "He's on your  
newspaper's mailing list. Is his lab even in there? It doesn't  
look safe."

Not only was there a fully functional lab in the deceptive  
looking building, but Scully was actually impressed with some of  
the equipment inside. Obviously the man had some funds coming from  
anonymous and perhaps less than legal sources. There was little  
concern that he might turn his findings over to the government or  
any person in authority. William 'Wild Man" DeFries was a flashback  
from the sixties, complete with graying, waist length braided  
hair, a string of beads around his skinny neck and a tie-dyed T-  
shirt on under his lab coat. He could have easily won a Willie  
Nelson look-a-like contest.

Frohike and Langly immediately began to prowl around the lab,  
quietly poking at the equipment, trying to guess at its uses. Both  
were very taken by DeFries's state of the art Mac computer which  
had every bell and whistle any hacker could ever have lusted  
after. A pile of Mulder's medical files, which Byers had faxed  
over the night before, lay haphazardly on the desk, several  
paragraphs marked in red ink.

"Did you put these slides in any sort of preservative?"  
DeFries asked Scully, holding the glass slides between finger and  
thumb.

"No, I was in a hurry and thought the hospital techs would do  
the hard work," Scully admitted, "I wasn't even sure what I was  
looking at."

"Well, I read what Johnny sent over last night." Wild Man  
frowned, "Amazing stuff, but hard to prove with what you've  
got." He inserted the slide under his microscope, examining it  
carefully. "I've got an electron microscope here-take a look." He  
encouraged the red haired doctor to peer into the eyepiece, "But  
as you suspected, the cells are degrading almost to nothing. It  
looks like they have a very fragile protein in the nucleus-I don't  
think they would ever had been entirely stable, even in a  
preservative medium."

"So we're left with nothing?" Mulder asked, trying to muffle a  
cough with the back of his hand. "Again."

"What about the blood samples I took from him last  
night?" Scully persisted.

"I have to prepare those, do several preliminary tests, but  
what you may have had is a weak mutated virus. Since it killed  
nearly all of it's hosts..."He gave a nod towards the tall FBI agent  
on his right, "Except him, we don't have much to work with, even  
if you could get some blood samples from the CDC. As for Mulder,  
the drugs you gave him may have destroyed any trace of the virus."

"If it was so weak, how did it kill so many people?" Langly  
asked.

"Weak for a virus, but if the immune system has no defense  
against it..." Wild Man shrugged, "I'm no epidemiologist, or even a  
virologist, but it's kind of like the American Indians getting the  
measles."

"Dr. Fielding wrote that it had alien RNA." Byers put in,  
"You're saying there's no way to prove that?"

"Not unless I got some fresh samples from the original site."

"Then we need to go back to Salinas." Mulder took a ragged  
breath, still struggling not to cough again, but his eyes were  
bright with excitement.

"No!" Scully protested, "As your doctor, as well as your  
partner, I forbid that."

"You forbid it?" he asked incredulously.

"Mulder, you still should be on oxygen." Scully saw that look  
in his gray-green eyes, there was no way she could keep him from  
going to California, short of locking him in a jail cell.

"We could go," Frohike volunteered.

"I know a new way to hack into some of the airline's  
computers, wouldn't even have to pay for tickets..." Langly mused,  
"Of course, we couldn't use our own names..."

"Thanks, guys." Mulder pulled his gaze away from Scully's  
concerned and possibly mutinous blue eyes, "But it's my 'Holy  
Grail" and if anyone goes, it should be me."

"I'll go with you." Dana sighed, her medical degree and her  
loyalty to her partner warring inside her. "But since Dr. DeFries  
has to do tests that will take more than twenty four hours-the RNA  
manipulation can be tricky, right Doctor?" The biologist smiled at  
her, his beads jangling when he nodded. "So, we don't need to go  
anywhere until Tuesday or Wednesday-you can wait that long." She  
directed the last straight at Mulder, who knew when to back down  
to fight another day.

"We need to get in touch with the doctors back in Salinas,  
see what they did with the bodies of the people who died." Mulder  
began plotting.

"We are NOT digging up any remains," Scully stated firmly,  
relieving especially Byers who found that a particularly gruesome  
idea, "Dr. Fielding spoke with the hospital out there where all  
the Arena virus patients were taken, and I'm sure he has the notes  
somewhere."

"I'll go through what I printed out last night, and go back  
onto the hospital's mainframe, if necessary." Langly eyed the  
biologist's Mac lovingly, but knew the operation would be best  
performed in the secrecy of the Lone Gunmen head quarters.

"And Mulder can go back to bed," Scully insisted.

"At your place?" He gave her his best sick-puppy look. "Those  
guys snore like walruses."

"As long as you keep the ESPN down to a dull roar."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
San Jose, California, Wednesday 7:15 p.m.

The plane ride out to San Jose, California airport had  
turbulence nearly the entire duration of the flight. There had,  
naturally, in this modern world of airline centralization, been a  
stopover in the company's flagship airport half way between Dulles  
and San Jose. Thus, after flying all day, renting a car and having  
to fight Silicon valley rush hour traffic to get out of the  
airport, it was after seven p.m. and Scully was all for finding a  
quiet restaurant and hotel to the night. Mulder, despite obvious  
exhaustion, had other plans.

"Scully, you said yourself that the glow only shows up at  
night." He wheezed, searching around in his carry-on bag for the  
Albuteral puffer she'd insisted he bring. He located it by feel  
and extracted it out from under his change of clothing. A quick  
inhalation from the little plastic dispenser opened up his  
airways, but he still felt like he was drawing breaths through a  
filter across his trachea.

"I'll put you back in the hospital, if I have to," Scully  
threatened, swinging the car over one lane to fight traffic for  
the correct off ramp for highway 101 to Salinas.

"Just wait until after we get there." He grinned at her.  
Daylight savings time had recently 'sprung forward" so there was  
still daylight and he watched the California landscape turn from  
industrial and high-tech business buildings into more and more  
fields of spring crops.

"DeFries didn't find anything out of the ordinary in your  
blood work, Mulder," Scully pointed out. "Even the residual  
antibodies from the other alien viruses you've had show up more  
than this. However much alien RNA there was when you were  
initially exposed, it reverted to regular Arena virus cells in the  
end."  
"But if we can find the source, what caused it..."He peered out  
towards a long field with a view of the ocean in the distance.  
"This looks familiar."

"Yes, it was up about two or three miles from here." Dana  
checked her odometer, slowing enough to keep watch as she drove.  
They turned onto a small, infrequently used side road around the  
agricultural fields, so there were no other cars or people around.  
At least, when they had last visited, there had been some migrant  
farm workers tending the crops. Now, there was a quiet after hours  
feel, the early evening darkness descending around them like a  
dark blue quilt speckled with stars.

"This is it." Scully stopped the car, both FBI agents getting  
out. But there was no hut, not even a pale glow to show where it  
might have been.

"They burned it." Mulder kicked at the charred earth and bits  
of burned wood, coughing. "It's all gone."

"What did you expect, Mulder?" Scully sighed, "We never get  
any proof."

"Remember what you called it, Scully?" He looked up at the  
glittering panoply of stars above them. "Phantom fireflies.  
Insubstantial, but burning brightly. Like stars. I wonder where  
that virus came from? An alien ship? A meteor that crashed to  
earth here?"

"I'd forgotten how bright the stars look when you're away  
from a modern city." She tilted her head to admire the view,  
gasping with delight as a falling star flashed briefly across the  
heavens. "A wish, Mulder?"

"You know my wish." He gave her a sad smile, "The truth."

"Mulder, you did have proof." She linked her fingers with  
his, warming his cold hand. "It was inside you. That's where the  
truth has always been."  
fin


End file.
